


Strange Currencies

by ScribeFigaro



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeFigaro/pseuds/ScribeFigaro
Summary: Sango/Miroku wedding night version #75.  Belated response to "Inuyasha Smut Nights," I suppose.  Literary analysis indicates 26.3% fluff and 73.7% unapologetic PWP.





	

_You know with love_  
_Come strange currencies_  
_And here is my appeal:_  
_I need a chance,_  
_A second chance,_  
_A third chance,_  
_A fourth chance,_  
_A word,_  
_A signal,_  
_A nod,_  
_A little breath,_  
_Just to fool myself,_  
_To catch myself,_  
_To make it real._  
_-REM_

The sun set, and torches brought light to the village center, and not a one of them compared to the fire within Miroku.  His love for Sango had burned for so long, so brightly, and the anticipation of what this night may bring made it hard to focus on anything else.

The ceremony was simple enough: an exchanging of promises, the drinking of ritual wine, the blessings of the attendees.  The party was another matter, as the defeat of Naraku some weeks before deserved celebration, and a wedding was an excellent time for that.  Nearly every villager had some contribution to the feast, and at this rate Miroku thought it unlikely the revelry would end before dawn.

His bride had left him nearly an hour earlier; he had taken for granted she had simply been attending the facilities - the wine had been flowing freely for some time - and fifteen minutes thereafter became concerned she was ill and gone searching.  Her bridal attendants, a trio of teenage girls not much younger than Sango herself, were also missing, but as Miroku’s concern and distraction grew, one was apparently dispatched to pull him aside, and explain that he was supposed to pretend he did not notice Sango’s absence and entertain the wedding guests on his own for the time being.  When Miroku pressed the issue, the girl sighed with exasperation, realizing that Miroku was not a particularly smart man, and - speaking into his ear - explained very slowly, in very small words, that Sango was too embarrassed to walk to her matrimonial bed with her husband, with every attendee of the party wishing them good luck on their consummation.  Miroku's task was to shield his wife’s honor, to face whatever innuendo and bawdry jokes might come, and deflect in whatever way he found most appropriate.  Furthermore, Miroku would not be allowed to depart the celebration until his bride summoned him, via one of her attendants.  When pressed on _that_ issue, the girl pressed a hand to her face, rubbed her temples with thumb and middle finger, and explained that his wife was bathing.

So Miroku waited.

Finally, an attendant had come - a different attendant; apparently the previous girl had found Miroku impossible to deal with - and taken Miroku by the hand, and led him to what was now his new home.  The brother of that attendant went about the crowd, explaining that the bride had overindulged and the groom would attend to her health, but they sent their blessings to the village and urged the celebration continue so long as the wine remained.

The bride-attendant pulled open the door and gestured Miroku inside, and told him to lock the clasp as she slid the door closed.

The home was all light; the kitchen-fire was bright and a square of candles marked their sleeping pallet.  Sango knelt there, her wedding robes impeccably arrayed, her makeup carefully applied.

“ _Houshi-sama_ ,” she said.  “I missed you.”

He approached her, knelt beside, brought hands to her face and kissed her.  He could not stop kissing her, and soon the kiss was more than that, mouths seeking to capture lips, tongues seeking the terrain of another mouth, hot breath and sweet saliva and moans that stirred feelings never before stirred.  She was just so _alive_.

She pulled back, pressed her forehead to his, caught her breath.

“Wait,” she said.  “Forgive me.  The most terrible words I can imagine right now are ‘not yet’ but still I speak them.  Will you indulge me, and let me tell you the thoughts that burn so brightly in my heart?”

“Sango.  Always, Sango.  The past hour without you by my side has been sweet agony.  If you should grant me the gift of sitting here beside you, seeing your face, hearing your voice, I would gladly do so, for as long as you would let me.”

“I only feel … there is just so _much_ , Miroku.  The enemy we have sought for so long - and the ancient evil neither of us had ever fully known or understood until the very end, and perhaps not even then - has been vanquished.  But their damage remains.  Your father and your grandfather.   My family, my ancestors, my village, and my brother.  Some are gone and some remain and I am not sure how these things will affect my life now that I am married and must look toward the future.  Kagome, whose friendship I treasure more deeply than words can express, is in a place we cannot possibly reach, and I fear we may never see her again.  And Inuyasha, who is as a brother to us, bears a burden I could not.  I look at you now, and think of being as separated from you as Inuyasha is separated from Kagome, and it hurts so hard I can’t breathe.”

She bit her lip, the tears beginning to flow, her hands suddenly flying to her face.

“Ah, damn it, this is Kagome’s makeup, and there’s no more left in the world after I use what I have - what little bit is already on my face is utterly priceless ...”

“Sango, it’s quite all right.  I understand, I truly do.  All of us have suffered from the misdeeds of Naraku, but you have lost more than I could imagine.  I watched my own father die, Sango, so you know I completely understand the emotions you felt at that moment.  If I had seen the same thing happen to my brother and all my other kin, if I had somehow dragged myself from my own grave and found my village in ashes, its residents dead to a man - I do not think I could cope, Sango.  I think I would have become a being of mindless rage, devoid of thought, living for nothing but to exact pointless cruelty on the guilty and innocent alike.  The strength you have shown in collecting all that horror, and forging it into a weapon of justice, when simple revenge would have been so much easier, still astounds me, Sango.”

He gently touched her face, wiped away a tear.

“I hope my intentions were clear, Sango, when we were in your village and I first felt feelings for you.  My love for you was never pity.  It was the love for someone who showed the strength of character that I so desperately wanted to aspire toward.  I hope, also, you understand that this marriage is not something that obligates you to set all that pain aside.  On the contrary, it obligates you to set all that pain on _me_ .  And this is one of very few demands I shall ever make of you, as your husband.  But I _demand_ it, Sango.  Your pain no longer belongs to you anymore.  You must do your duty, as my wife, and surrender to me my fair share of your pain.  If you suffer, I shall suffer.  If you are unhappy I shall be unhappy.  I would take all your sadness from you, all your pain, if you would let me, but on no account will I ever tolerate you giving me less than half.”

“Miroku,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a cloth.  “Damn you, I won’t have any makeup left if you say things like that.”

He pulled her close, and she lay her face on his shoulder, letting soft tears come.  

“H-happy tears,” she informed him.  “And I’m not - I’m not going to do my makeup again.  It’s your own fault I look like a mess right now …”

Gathering herself, drawing back, she shook her head.

“All right,” she said.  “There are so many things to discuss, I could so easily dwell on sad times.    But I won’t let that happen.  Not tonight, of all nights.  This is a new chapter of my life.  A happy chapter.”

“There is no need to force yourself, Sango.  I am so happy to share this bed with you I could not possibly complain, even if we should go directly to sleep.”

“That,” she said, “that I will most strenuously protest.”

“Oh?”  There was pain, actual pain, to keep his expression neutral and guarded when certain facial muscles dedicated themselves toward making him grin from ear to ear.

“May … may I speak plainly to you, Miroku?  More plainly, more clearly, than I have ever allowed myself to speak to another?  Words and thoughts have been running through my mind - fantasies I’ve held for longer than I care to admit - and I would very much like to express them to you, and know I am being very serious.”

His heart lept.  Impossible, though.  She was teasing him.  He could not allow himself to dream she thought of the sort of things he … no, cast that aside, this night is for _her_ , and he will not allow himself to be carried away.

“These wedding garments … I know they are plain, but with the help of Kaede and the others I feel I did well in wearing them.  I hoped my attention to my appearance was enough to honor this village, as well as my own.  I hoped I portrayed the bride as she should be portrayed, and shown all present how strongly I feel about the sanctity of marriage, and made my parents and all my ancestors proud, that their daughter should bind herself to a man so worthy, and dedicate herself to closing the graves behind her, such that she can build the family before her.”

“I have no doubt, Sango, your parents are proud and peaceful spirits, to see their daughter accomplish so much, and save the life of your brother, when anyone else would have thought him lost.”

“And now - now that my husband has seen me in public ceremony, and we have dined and wined and entertained and been entertained.  Now that we are alone, and everyone in this village is politely pretending we are not about to do exactly what we are about to do … this thing I am callously delaying … well, even as I do this, I apologize.  I know you’ve been waiting for this moment, and even so there are so many things I wish to say and to do beforehand …”

He smiled.

“Drawing this out, building up my anticipation - Sango, my dear, wherever did you get the impression I did not enjoy being teased?”

She blushed.

“What … what I mean is, you know I’m not very experienced, but I wanted to tell you I still - I still want to take an active part in … in lovemaking, and I hope you teach me earnestly even if I am foolish and clumsy.  I tried to learn a few things -”

He raised an eyebrow.

“F-from Kagome’s books!  And I didn’t even _ask_ , she left them for me _months_ ago!”

“I think you greatly overestimate my own experience, Sango.  And regardless, we have much to learn about _each other_ .  I think we shall both learn many wonderful things.  If your concern is that I would not like many moments of intimate discovery - I assure you such moments are _exactly_ the sort of thing I desire the most.”

“There’s that and also … even though I know you’ve spied on me before, and seen me naked, I still … I still want you to know this is a very serious thing to me, to let my husband see me so intimately …”

“I apologize if my expression does not fully convince you I am taking this moment _most_ seriously.”

“And that’s why … even if it would be so easy to lift up my skirts, and be joined with you this very moment, I still … I want you to see me.  Truly see me, and learn every blemish, every imperfection, and accept me in every aspect, so that from now on, if you should call me beautiful, I know you speak as someone who knows my body better than anyone on earth.”

“Sango,” he said.  “Such a privelege is truly priceless.”

“If that … if that is acceptable to you, Miroku, then please … these garments are your wife as she wishes to present herself to the ceremony and celebration of her marriage.  The woman as I want the world to see me.  Everyone in the world but _you_.  I wish to present myself to you as the woman beneath these clothes, exposed and vulnerable and yours entirely.  And even … even if it sounds presumptuous to say, it would make me happy … it would make me very happy, Miroku, if it would please you to think of my nakedness as a gift … a precious gift which I offer without reservation, and so thoroughly desire you enjoy.”

“That,” he whispered, his mouth dry, “that is … I could not describe this moment more perfectly than that.”

She reached forward, taking his hands in hers, and drawing him toward her chest.

“Then please, Miroku.   Although it is long past sunset, the kitchen-fire is well-fed and the lamps are many, such that nothing might evade your attention.  If it should please you anywhere near as much as it should please me, let us conduct one more marriage ceremony, one for you and I alone.   Let me stand here, and be undressed by my own husband.  Let the bride be stripped naked by her groom.”

“S-sango,” he croaked, “that - such an invitation is …”

Words failed; his hands did not.  Her obi loosened and removed, then the sash holding her kimono, and then the underlayer; each of these he carefully folded and set aside, knowing how terribly expensive such garments were.  Her formal kimono flattened out her curves, but as each layer of clothing fell off the contour of Sango’s body became more clear.  Now, wearing only a white knee-length _hadagi_ undershirt, the lines of her bust and hips could no longer hide.  And also, something strange.  Beneath the thin _hadagi_ he could notice slight lines around her bust and along her waist, and perhaps vaguely triangular pink coloration at Sango’s waist, and one over either breast.  

“Before you continue,” she said, “I feel I should explain I am not exactly naked beneath this _hadagi_ , and I have further undergarments that are not exactly … traditional…”

“Sango?”

“After Inuyasha returned from the battle, and told us that Kagome had gone to her own world, Kaede came to me with a package.  Kagome had left it months before, for safekeeping.  I think she suspected back then that the Shikon no Tama was attached to the well in such a way its destruction might sever the connection and confine her to her own world.  At least, that is what I hope, and she did not prepare this package with the expectation she would not survive our final battle with Naraku.  But there was a note in there, and gifts.  A book on medicine for Kaede.  Toys and sweets for Shippou.  For Inuyasha, a knit blanket that - according to him - still smelled like her home.  For myself, shampoos and soaps and makeup and feminine hy- ah … personal things.  And for you, Miroku …”

She shook her head.

“I admit it was not Kagome’s idea. Not to start with, anyway. I thought of it when we were changing at a hot spring and I started asking about clothing in her world, but I was half-joking at the time and didn’t think much else of it.  She tricked me, as well - her school training had a lesson in the economics of a home, such as the making of clothing, and required she demonstrate her ability to take measurements of a female body.  Her clothing is so strange - made by mechanical devices to fit a human body so precisely - that I assumed it was perfectly normal for someone operating that machine to first measure the dimensions of the person who might wear it.  So I thought nothing of it when I agreed, and between undressing and entering the onsen, allowed Kagome to produce a ribbon with distance markings on it, and measure the circumference of my hips, my waist, my chest, and even the size of my breasts.  And yes, Miroku, if you say _anything_ that might remotely suggest you are fantasizing about such a scene in _any_ way, I will beat you unconscious, husband or no.”

“Duly noted.”

“But yes,  Kagome’s gift to you - to both of us, but I suspect, mostly you - is what I’m wearing right now.  Beneath this _hadagi_ .  And with that understanding, I invite you to remove my _hadagi_ , and see.  I am not sure if it will have the intended effect, and if you find it silly, please tell me and we can move on.”

He gingerly reached forward, unfastened the tie at her waist, and opened up the thin robe, and found himself shaken to his core - Kagome’s world was not merely a different world, or a strange world, but it was a _perfect_ world, the _best_ of _all_ worlds, a world of miracle and wonder.

“Good god almighty,” Miroku whispered, letting the _hadagi_ fall of Sango’s shoulders and fall to the floor.

He wasn’t sure what to look at first.  The garment at her waist - well, at and below her waist - was at least something he could understand.  It was a loincloth, or at least seemed to serve the same purpose in covering up that general area.  But the color was an amazing pink, like cherry blossoms, and the material was intricately patterned.  And what was the material, exactly?  Silk and lace?  He’d once seen cloth-sellers with a small amount of such materials, imported through Dejima from China and beyond, but rarely enough to make more than a handkerchief, for sale to daimyou at a price comparable to a retainer’s monthly salary.  The people of Kagome’s time were so wealthy they could turn this valuable commodity into a _loincloth_?  Did they also wipe their bottoms with gold coins?  And, my god, the fine details of the lace pattern.  As if Sango’s beauty were not enough, the triangle between her thighs and her most intimate place was girded with flowers and vines of red lace of such meticulous needlework they would not be out of place as an applique on the outermost kimono of the Shogun himself.

His brain had only started to get a handle on this when he came upon her breasts.  My god.  That same material, same pink color and floral pattern, delicately traced Sango’s breasts.  Two cloth - bowls?  cups? - each encaptured and cradled one of Sango’s breasts, with straps of fabric over her ribs and shoulders apparently converging at her back somewhere.  He had expected Sango’s breasts to be wrapped in linen, as most warrior-women did, keeping them secure while also concealing their contours.  Not so with this garment - each breast was quite on its own, and if anything, lifted upwards and away, rather than flattened, such that each of Sangos’ breasts could be admired in their perfect, full roundness.  

The sound of blood rushing in his ears was such that Miroku realized he might possibly pass out. He paced his breathing, focused himself.

“S-sango,” he said.  “I cannot … words cannot …”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and, unable to come up with anything better, raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders.  

“May I take it,” Sango said, “these garments are effective, and have pleased you?”

He nodded, wordlessly, but vigorously.

Sango smiled.

“May I,” Miroku said.  “May I, walk around you? See you, from every angle?”

“Of course.”

He pressed his hand to his mouth, nostrils flaring, and slowly circled his goddess of a wife.  Holy hell, her ass.  Her _immaculate_ ass.  The silk and lace cradling this most perfect of all asses, the beautiful curves, the extraordinary firmness.  Such a vision was evil, Miroku knew, for if he should ever view the Face of God, God would be insulted, because Miroku would rate God’s Most Perfect Presence on a scale of “one” to “Sango’s ass” and God could not possibly rate more than a seven on that scale.

He also, of course, noted the beauty of Sango’s back, the scar there noticeable but doing nothing to mar her beauty, and of course, the mechanism by which the straps of the garment which held back Sango’s breasts joined and secured themselves.  He had learned how to operate Kagome’s steel horse very quickly, but he had the benefit of seeing her ride the contraption and noticing the actions upon the revolving stirrups that propelled it forward.  The clasp at Sango’s back was quite different, as he’d never seen such a device in operation, but every fiber of his being demanded he wholly commit himself toward the task.

She blushed under his attentions, but stood still, following his eyes as he circled her several times.  She was so _beautiful_ .  Ignoring her extraordinary undergarments - if such a thing were possible - he followed the lines of her body.  Her hair was still up, such that her neck and back were fully exposed to his gaze, and he took stock of her beauty.  She could have covered herself in sackcloth, showing him nothing but her eyes, and still those eyes would have swallowed him completely.  He studied her face, the shape of her chin and mouth, the remnants of smudged black paint beneath her eyes somehow adorable to him.  His eyes continued onward, and noted that the lamplight threw shadows that accentuated her biceps, her deltoids, her abdominals, her calves.  He knew she was strong, but he’d never really noticed before just how _muscular_ she was.  Her style of fighting was acrobatic and he reasonably assumed she’d have the physique of a gymnast, but of course he should have known that just _carrying_ Hiraikotsu - nevermind _throwing_ the damn thing - was a workout all its own.  To wield a weapon like that, Sango would of course have to be _ripped_.

“You could totally kick my ass,” he blurted out.

“You only realize this _now_?” she asked.

Her skin was smooth and would have been perfect enough, but it was adorned with the most beautiful marks and scars, small and faded and mostly unnoticeable unless he stands very close and examines her skin inch by inch.  Which he does, and in doing so, reads the story of Sango’s fight for her life, for her brother, for justice.  She is a beautiful portrait, and every mark on her skin is not an _imperfection_ but a _perfection_ , a visible brushstroke which betrays the fine craftsmanship of whatever cosmic forces created this living artwork standing before him.

“I know my appearance is not … traditionally feminine,” she said.  “Taijiya training doesn’t allow for a very ladylike physique.  I won’t apologize for it, but I also won’t take offense if you’re taken by surprise.”

“I am certainly taken by something,” Miroku said, “but I do not think ‘surprise’ quite encapsulates it.  Awe and veneration and transcendent wonder would be closer to the mark.  If you were carved in stone you would be in a temple, and men would make pilgrimages of a thousand miles to offer prayers to the goddess of beauty and strength and combat, and see the crystallized perfection of womanhood in the glory of your form.”

He took her hands in his and kissed them, admiring the burning blush on her cheeks.

“Sadly, I am but one lowly monk, and my offerings are plain and unfit for your radiance.  But still I offer them, Sango.  Will you accept?  Will you allow me to worship you?”

She nodded, sputtering protest, that he should try another line, that such ridiculous affectations won’t work on her, but she smiled and her eyes shimmered wet and her smile was so perfect, so beautiful, that he needed his own lips on that smile, and he kissed her, and pulled her close, and her hands slipped into his hair and her tongue slipped into his mouth.

She was fire in his hands, the muscles of her back tensing and releasing under his fingers.  He could not stop kissing her.  He could not pull away from the taste of her mouth, the texture of her tongue and lips.  He could not breathe.

He pulled back, gasping, pressing his forehead to hers, and they caught their breath together.

“W-wow,” she whispered.  “I had no idea something like that could be so …. I mean … if we … if the rest of the night is like this … I’m not sure I’m going to survive…”

“S-same here,” he said.  My god, she was so warm.  “Perhaps … perhaps it would be wise if we took this very … very slowly.”

“Y-yes,” she said.  “Too risky otherwise.  If I did what I wanted to do to you, as soon as I wanted to do it … I fear I might die.”

He drew back, looking her over.  The excitement of seeing Sango wearing these strange and foreign undergarments could no longer stand up to his need to see her _not_ wearing them.

“May I continue to undress you, Sango?”

“Yes, I think - I think that would be best.”

He stepped behind her and took the clasp of her breast binding into his fingers.

“There’s a trick to it,” she said, “I can show you if you want to - oh.”

The metallic hooks came loose and the elastic band around her ribs dangled down her back in two pieces.  The garment slipped down her chest an inch.

“Sango,” he said, and pressed his chest to her back, laying soft kisses on her neck, and slipping the straps of her breast binding off her shoulders.  Standing behind her, looking over her shoulder, he slipped his hands along her ribs, took the cups of the garment in either hand, and drew the fabric downward, thrilling himself with the sight of Sango’s breasts, firm and supple and perfect, the creamy flesh exposed inch by inch, the delight of that creamy flesh giving way to a small circular segment of dusky red, which became a semicircle, and then a circle with a taut little nub and Sango’s garment slips through his fingers because he is looking a the most perfect areole and the most perfect nipples and my god, it would have been plenty for God to have just given Sango these amazing breasts, so perfectly round, but God went one step further and decided to discard any sense of moderation by marking the peak of each of Sango’s breasts with the most extraordinary nipple, and he salivates because more than anything else on this earth he needs to taste them, to feel the texture of Sango’s nipples with his lips and tongue, to worship her breasts with his mouth.  Would Sango allow this?  Would she mind terribly if her husband should fall to his knees and spend the remainder of the evening sucking on one or the other of Sango’s most perfect breasts?

There is no way she is not fully aware of his arousal pressed against her back, but he can control that no more than he can control his hands as they cup Sango’s breasts and brush Sango’s nipples, and she is making noise, actually moaning, and _my god, what a perfect texture, I am going to lose my fucking mind._

“S-stop,” she gasps, and the word is icewater poured down his spine.  He is frozen in place.

“Sango, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.  Are you all right?”

“You didn’t … ah, Miroku, whatever you were doing, I want that, so much more of that, but first … this undergarment … it is very difficult to wash, so I don’t want … I don’t want it soiled.”

“Sango?”

“So please, Miroku, remove this undergarment before you go any further.”

He stepped back, and regarded the last of Sango’s clothing, the lace and silk artwork that conformed so perfectly to Sango’s amazing ass.

“I’m not sure I understand,” he said, even as his fingers found the waistband of the garment and drew it down, denuding the most beautiful buttocks he had ever seen.

“I-idiot,” she said.  “You’re supposed to be some sort of ladies’ man, aren’t you?”

He drew her undergarment down to her knees, to her feet, and helped her step out of it.

“Miroku,” she said.  “How can you _look_ at me as you have, and _speak_ to me as you have, and _touch_ me as you have, and _not know_ you are making me embarrassingly, _obscenely_ aroused?”

And here Miroku thought he was already as aroused as he could be, but my god, she has just set him afire with want.  He stands up, the undergarment in his hands, and is dumbstruck.  She takes the garment from him, folds it, and places it aside, and for good measure, scoops up the breast bindings with her foot and does the same with that.

“I thought you were doing it _on purpose_ ,” she says.  “That seeing me with an undergarment like that, with silk and lace pressed directly to my intimate places, was too much for you to resist, and you just _had to_ see that fabric become _visibly wet_ …”

Miroku decided that he had died.  He was dead.

Sango shook her head.

“But nevermind that.  If you’re quite finished teasing me -”

His mouth was upon hers, his hands fisting her hair.  He wanted her.  Wanted to devour her.  He tasted her mouth, and her carefully arranged hair disintegrated, combs and hairpins and clasps falling to the floor, and Sango’s hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back like wine.  He gripped her shoulders, her back, fingernails tracing the muscles beneath the skin.  She gripped his wrists and pushed them down her back, and they moaned into each others’ mouths as Sango placed Miroku’s hands on her ass, her magnificent ass, and he squeezed the flesh and pulled her close, grinding her pelvis against him, making her feel his erection against her stomach.  He squeezed and kneaded her ass, testing its firmness, its contours, moving from hip to waist to thigh, tracing the line between her buttocks up and down, approaching deliriously close to Sango’s most intimate places.

He broke the kiss and placed wet kisses on Sango’s chin and neck, moving downward and to her left.  He thought he might cry when his tongue made contact with Sango’s nipple; it was so perfect, so delicious.  She moaned, and cradled his head as Miroku sucked desperately.  He made a strategic decision to redirect his left hand, abandoning the perfection of Sango’s right buttock so as to capture the perfection of her right breast.  Sango began to make the most beautiful, most arousing noises, and she gripped his shoulders and pulled him down, so that they were sitting on their knees on the sleeping pallet.  

She continued to gasp and moan, and it was the most beautiful music imaginable, and so easy to follow, as her perfect little noises told him when to suck and how hard, when to lick and tease, when to worry Sango’s nipple between his tongue and teeth, and when to move from one breast to the other, placing his hand on the other breast to keep it warm, and lightly rubbing and pinching the nipple that was so very slick with his saliva.

The hand on her buttock continued to squeeze and knead, but after some moments she took his hand in hers and guided his hand away, over her hip, toward her belly.  She adjusted her position, spreading her legs wider.

“Miroku,” she cooed.  “Touch me.”

She guided his hand down, letting his fingers feel the smooth tautness of her abdomen, the thatch of hair, and then flesh, impossibly warm, impossibly wet.  

He released her breast from his mouth, gasped. _My god, this is her.  This is the most extraordinary part of her._

“S-sango,” he said.  “T-tell me.  What you want.  Anything you want.”

“Mmm,” she said.  Her fingers pressed his own firmly against her vulva.  She rocked her hips back and forth, and guided his middle finger into the wet furrow, immaculate labia on either side.  There was a blush on her cheeks but he did not think it was embarrassment.  If he did not know her better he would have said she was drunk.  But her intoxication was not from wine; it was from the heady atmosphere of raw sex that permeated every inch of the room.

“This is nice,” she said, continuing to rock back and forth, and letting her outer labia surround his finger and coat it with her wetness.  “You don’t mind this, do you, Miroku?”

“Sango, my god, you don’t have the remotest idea what you’re doing to me, do you?”

“Mmm,” she said.  “I definitely have an idea.”

With her other hand she caressed his cheek, ran fingers through his hair.

“Miroku.  Would you mind terribly, if I asked you to put your finger inside me?”

He licked his lips, drawing up his willpower.  It would not take more that a light breeze over the tent in his robes to make him erupt.  And yet he held fast, somehow, even as Sango made the most incredible moan, even as she guided his middle finger into her very core, even as Sango granted him the unimaginable privilege of feeling her most intimately, of knowing the texture of that part of her, the part that was hot and wet and constricted around his finger, pulling him in, swallowing him up.  

“Oh, g-god,” she groaned.

It was pure instinct that drove him to search out that part of her, to feel out the muscular walls with the pad of his finger, and she began to tremble and cry out and he began repeating the movements that matched her gasps and groans.  She had been holding his wrist, directing him to slide his finger in and out, but released him, and instead gripped his shoulders as her head dipped down.  Wetness spilled from her, and her body made the most wonderful slurping sound as he slid his finger in and out.  Her hips began to move, rolling in synch with him as he fingered her, and he brushed his thumb over her lower lips, seeking out her intimate contours, and she groaned as he brushed over her firm nub.

“F-fuck,” she said.  “T-there … oh god, touch me right there …”

He pressed his thumb to her clit, rubbing firm circles over the bud, making Sango’s cries louder, building her up.  

“M-miroku … f-fuck … I’m gonna … you’re making me …”

She grabbed a fistful of hair and brought his mouth to a nipple, which he obligingly sucked, and within seconds her body began to clench and release around his finger in a rapid pattern, and Sango granted him the incomparable beauty of her crashing orgasm.

As the aftershocks subsided, he brought his mouth to hers, and she wrapped her arms around his back, and they kissed, slowly, softly.  It was several minutes before she could speak.  Before either of them could speak.

“My god,” she whispered.  “That was extraordinary. Is it - is it always like that?  Please tell me it’s always like that.”

He kissed her ear.

“Of course not, Sango.  That was only my first attempt at bringing you pleasure.  Allow me to practice often, and I shall strive toward continual improvement.”

“I don’t think I could handle that,” she said.  “To think it could possibly feel more intense than that - God, Miroku, I don’t know if I’d even survive.”

He kissed her, brushing her cheeks with the back of his hand, feeling her warmth, when suddenly her felt his obi loosen.  Without breaking the kiss, Sango was already busy dismantling his kimono.

“Sango?”

“I’ve shown you mine,” she says, grinning playfully.  “Now you show me yours.”

“Ah, that is-”

Obi and kimono and hadagi all fell away - and were folded rather sloppily - and soon he was naked save a loincloth - white linen, rather than pink silk and lace.

“Regretfully,” he said, “Kagome has not seen fit to grant me the sort of undergarment that would most artistically gird my loins.”

“Idiot,” she muttered, and placing her hands on his shoulders, began to explore his arms and chest.

It was all he could do not to preen as Sango studied his body.  The expression on her face was so peaceful, so welcoming, so accepting.  She guided him to stand, and continued her inspection of his back and legs and soon there was only one part of him that she did not know.

She stood before him, stood on her toe and kissed him, and then let her hands slide down from his shoulders, over his chest, resting on his stomach.  

“With your permission,” she said, and he nodded, and she unfastened his loincloth and let the garment fall away and he was achingly erect and she was looking right at it.

“Oh,” she said.  “Wow.”

“Good ‘wow’?” he asked.

“Yes.  Good wow.  So that’s … that’s one of those, huh?”

“Yes,” he said.

She furrowed her brows, reached toward it, pulled back, tilted her head as if his penis might make more sense from another angle.

“How - how do you, uh-”

She waved her hand, a gesture toward whatever statement failed to come to mind.

“Sango?”

She shook her head.

“Sorry.  I’m so sorry  You didn’t even hesitate to touch me intimately when I asked, and yet, when our positions are reversed … it’s not that I dislike it.  I like it very much.  I just don’t know enough … I’m afraid I might hurt you if I just grabbed it …”

“It’s quite all right, Sango,” he said  “You need not touch me at all if you don’t want to.”

“But I do.  I want to touch you.”

She reached forward, took his hands in hers.

“S-show me,” she said.  “Guide my hands.  Teach me the proper way to touch you.  Show me what feels good.”

He swallowed, and too her hands to his lips, kissed them, and pressed them to his chest, gliding them down to his waist.

“Are you certain, Sango?”

“Yes, completely.”

He took her right hand first, guiding her fingers to the base of his shaft, sliding upward to the tip, and back, repeating this several times.  He traced her fingers over the sensitive ridge of his cockhead, and let her feel the texture of his glans.  He placed her palm against his shaft and closed her fingers over it, and showed her how to stroke him.  And he kept her hand there, stroking slowly, as he guided her left had to the underside of his shaft, cupping his testicles and gently massaging them.

He withdrew his hands, and she continued the movements, stroking his shaft and gently working his balls.

“Like this?” she said.

“Yes.  God yes.  Just like that.”

She continued her ministrations, and soon began to explore different ways of stroking him, different grips, different pace and firmness.  His breathing became shallower, more ragged, and he could feel the coil of pleasure wind up in his abdomen.  As he began to approach completion, he placed his hand over hers, guiding her to stop.

“Am I not doing it right?” she asked.

“N-no,” he gasped.  “No, just the opposite.  I can’t hold myself back much longer.”

“Why would you hold back?” she asked.

“Sango?”

“Does … does it not feel good?  Is it an unpleasant sensation for you to … to find release?”

“Ah, n-no,” he said.  “No, it’s completely - it’s a very pleasant sensation indeed, Sango.”

“Then are you worried you might not be able to find release again tonight, when we are joined?”

“No, I think - I think I should have no trouble at all with that …”

“Then I again ask, Miroku, why would you hold back?”

“Sango.  There is no need to put your efforts to pleasing me at the expense of your own pleasure.”

She made a face like had just said something very stupid.

“Why should you bring me to climax, setting aside your own sexual gratification so that you may focus entirely on mine, and deny me the opportunity to grant you the same?”

It was probably involuntary that her accusation was punctuated with her grip tightening on his shaft.

“Sango, I’m afraid it’s quite different, for you to do that to me… I would not wish you to dirty yourself with something so unpleasant.”

“Have you already forgotten who it is you’ve married, Miroku?  Just two days ago I was preparing lures for stink-beetle demons.   _That_ is dirty and unpleasant.  I can assure you I’m not the least bit bothered by something so innocuous as my own husband’s semen.”

“I … ah.”  He blushed at her candidness.  That she could speak so confidently about … about _that_ ...

“I fear you have some mistaken idea that your responsibility is not merely to pleasure me, but to refuse any pleasure in return.  But you are my partner, Miroku, in battle and in life and in bed, and all the pleasure you might bring me tonight will still leave me dissatisfied if you should deny me the opportunity to do the same for you.”

“Sango … are you really that certain?”

“Absolutely.  Will you grant me the same experience I have granted you, and let me see the person I love so dearly in a moment of total surrender, hiding nothing?  After all, why should my husband be too embarrassed to be brought to sexual completion by his own wife?  Why, when that same wife is not too embarrassed touch him most intimately?”

“You … you are most persuasive,” he said.

“One might say I have you by the balls,” she said.

He laughed, and she waited for him to finish laughing, and then began to stroke him.

“G-god,” he groaned.  His knees were weak, it was difficult to stand, but by no account could he lower himself to the floor and interrupt her pace.  He placed his hands on Sango’s shoulders, and told her things he never imagined he would tell her.

“F-faster,” he gasped.  “More firmly.”

She was so naked, and her hands were so warm, and she stroked his cock so well.  The coil of pleasure in his belly tightened.  His balls ached for release.  His hips began to move involuntarily, thrusting against Sango’s hands.

“S-sango … you may want to, ah … when it happens …”

“Don’t worry,” she said.  “I have a basin and some washcloths set aside, so cleanup won’t be a problem.  Just relax.  Just let it happen.”

“Sango … it … it won’t be much longer … ah …”

Her hands moved faster, left hand pumping his shaft, her right hand circling his cockhead, stimulating the sensitive ridge, coaxing him to completion.  

“Ah, I’m … I’m about to - ah!”

White heat shot through his spine, and he erupted in her hands.  She let out a small gasp of surprise, and for a brief moment he feared she would release him.  But she did not interrupt her ministrations, continuing to pump his shaft, continuing to fist his cockhead even as he spurted warm seed into her hand.   Whispering soft encouragement as he emptied himself.

“It’s all right,” she said.  “You can cum on me.  Cum as much as you want.”

His legs finally gave out, and they lowered themselves to the floor, and he pressed his face to her shoulder, gasping for breath.

“Ssh,” she said, placing a hand on his back and rubbing as he twitched from the aftershocks.  Her other hand remained on his cock, gently cradling the sensitive head, keeping him warm.

“I’m so glad,” she said.  “That’s really amazing.”

“S-sango,” he whispered.  “Thank you.  I can’t believe … how lucky I am …”

He recovered, and caught his breath, and leaned back, and only then did she release him, and study the sticky white fluid that coated her palm and spattered her stomach in thick droplets.

“Oh, wow,” she said.  “That really does go everyone, doesn’t it?  Excuse me a minute.”

She dipped a washcloth in the basin and tossed it to him, and he gingerly cleaned himself up, but remained absolutely dumbfounded at how utterly, inconceivably casual Sango could be as she washed his semen from her hands and body.

She sat beside him and kissed his cheek.

“Well,” she said, speaking in a tone that was far too normal for a situation where each of them was completely naked and each of them had very recently brought the other to sexual climax.  “I suppose you’re out of action for a little bit.  What shall we do in the meantime?”

“I have an idea,” he said.

He took her in his hands, took her mouth in his, and brought her to the floor, and he intertwined his fingers in hers and pinned her hands above her head, leaving her defenseless against his mouth.  She gasped and giggled and gently chided him but could not dissuade him from tasting every inch of her, from head to toe.  

Not even her breasts could satisfy him, and he moved lower, tested her ribs and stomach with his tongue, the slight hollow at either side of her hips.  He licked her thighs and her knees and her calves.  He kissed her ankles and each of her toes.  He knelt before her, traced fingers from her knees to her hips.

“Sango,” he said.  “I want to kiss you.”

“Then kiss me,” she said.

His fingers brushed her lips.

“I want to kiss you,” he said.  “But not here.”

Fingers tracing along her neck, down her chest, gently circling a nipple.

“Not here either.”

Her stomach fluttered as he dragged his hand across it, and brushed the triangle of soft curls below.

“Here,” he said, splaying fingers over the juncture of her closed thighs.

“M-miroku,” she said.  “You shouldn’t … that’s not a place for your mouth …”

“I disagree.  I think this is the best possible place for my mouth.”

She raised her hands to her cheeks, failing entirely to hide her shocked expression.

“ _Houshi-sama_ ,” she gasped, entirely scandalized.

“Sango,” he said.  “Will you let me see the person I love so dearly in a moment of total surrender, hiding nothing?”

“That’s not … Miroku, that’s not at all what I meant when I said that!”

“No?” he said.  “Why should my wife be too embarrassed to part her legs for her husband?  Why, when that same husband would be greatly satisfied to taste the honey that spills from her most intimate places?”

“Oh, god,” she said, apparently further shocked by the realization she was _very wet_ and he wanted _very much_ to lick her regardless.

“Please,” she said.  “I know you care deeply for me, are fully dedicated to pleasing me this night.  But I can’t ask for my own husband to … to lower himself to something like that ….”

“On the contrary,” he said.  “I am not lowering myself.  I am in fact asking for something far above my station, so much so my request is quite impertinent.  But I _do_ request.  I _beg_.  Sango.  My perfect wife, my beautiful goddess.  I am on my knees before you, a penitent praying for your blessing, that you might share your glory with one who is undeserving and unworthy.  Will you grant me your favor, Sango?  Will you allow me to worship you?”

Her face burned, yet she rolled her eyes at him, looking away.

“I - I can’t believe you,” she muttered.  “Saying such ridiculous things …”

She continued to look away as she spread her legs for him.

He was upon her, and the sensations came to him like an orchestra.  The warmth of her vulva.  The intoxicating scent.  The sweet and musky flavor of her precious juices.  The way her labia felt when he sucked the flesh.  The firmness of her clit under his tongue.  The way the muscles of her pelvis and stomach and legs tensed beneath his hands.  The inarticulate cries from her mouth.  The hands that gripped his hair and fixed him in place.  Her hips rolling and thrusting as he gripped her ass and held her still.  The legs wrapping around his head, and the sing-song moans as she came.  

He drew away, discreetly wiping his face, and she was splayed out, gasping for breath.

“Oh god,” she said.  “Oh holy god.  How is that even _possible_ ? I don’t even know what you _did_.”

He moved up her body, on his hands and knees.

“Thank you, Sango,” he said.  “I am honored you would share that with me.  I cannot begin to describe how beautiful your womanhood is, nor how delicious the taste.”

She gripped his head and drew him in for a deep kiss, and pulled back, so close their noses were nearly touching.

“Are you serious about … about the taste, Miroku?”

“Completely.”

“Your face is wet,” she said, and to his utter shock, Sango extended a tongue and licked his cheek.

“S-sango!”

“Mmm,” she said.  “I suppose it’s all right.  Oh! Are you already-”

She glanced down at Miroku’s very full erection and then kissed him deeply.

“I’m so glad,” she said.  “How did you time that so well?”

“Ah -” said Miroku.

“So that means we can - ah, get to the main event, then?” she asked.

“I’m … not sure I would phrase it that way …”

She smiled as he leaned back, regarding her.  

“How about this?”

She licked her lips, brought her hands to her own breasts, and drew them downward.  She touched herself, and moaned softly, and then parted her labia.  Miroku found it difficult to breathe.

“Husband,” she said.  “Impregnate me.”

She was smooth silk and heat, her body grasping him firmly, as he slowly pressed himself into her, until she had taken every inch of him.  She grimaced, and he remained still, waiting for her to be ready.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Y-yeah.  It doesn’t hurt.  It’s just … ah, it’s intense, having something … doing that ....”

She shifted back and forth a moment.

“Okay,” she said.  “Please go slowly.”

“Of course.”

Slowly.  Feeling every inch of her as he moved in and out.  So tight, so wet, so perfect.  She pulled him close, arms around his back, legs around his ass, and guided him to increase his pace.  The heat of her body was extraordinary.  He could feel the coil of pleasure tighten, but resisted.  Her first.  

“M-miroku,” she said.  “I’m sorry - could we …”

He slowed; she kissed him.

“It feels good, it really does, but would you mind if I was on top?”

He smiled.

“Not at all.”

He groaned as she pulled away, abandoning his wet cock to the cool air, and she guided him to lie on his back. She straddled him, bracing herself with her hands on his chest, and lowered herself onto him, taking him inside.

“Oh, f-fuck,” she groaned.  “Oh god, that’s deep…”

Her eyes were screwed shut as she began to move, rolling her hips, faster and faster.

“Better?” he asked.

“You have no idea.  You’re hitting every little spot, I can’t even describe -”

Leaning toward him, her perfect breasts bouncing, her perfect ass rolling in his hands, her perfect womanhood stroking and caressing and swallowing him.

“Oh god,” she said.  “Oh god, it’s happening.”

She shook above him, and her body clenched around him, demanding his release.

“C-cum,” she gasped.  “Please cum.  I want you to cum.”

He held her tight as he emptied himself into her, the pleasure rolling over his skin in waves.  This was the moment he had been waiting for so long.  This was the start of their family.  He felt the tears spill down his cheek.  He was so happy.  So deliriously, indescribably happy.

She collapsed atop him, cheek to his chest, as they bathed in the afterglow.  After a few moments he reached out for a blanket and threw it over them.

“I can’t believe … Miroku … we really … the two of us …”

He kissed her cheek.

“Has this evening met your approval so far, Sango?”

“I don’t even have the words, Miroku.  I just … I mean … I had no idea it was like _that_.”

He grinned.

“I just - I just don’t understand.  I really don’t, Miroku.”

“Understand what?”

“The village.  There are more than twenty families in this village.  Twenty wives and twenty husbands.  And they have children to raise and fields to farm and homes to maintain, right?”

“Right.”

“ _How_ ?” she said.  “My god, Miroku.   _How do they get ever get anything done_?”

  
  


_“The Fool” might be my middle name_  
_But I'd be foolish not to say_  
_I'm going to make_  
_Whatever it takes,_  
_Bring you up,_  
_Call you down,_  
_Sign your name,_  
_Secret love,_  
_Make it rhyme,_  
_Take you in,_  
_And make you mine._  
_\- REM_

  


END

  
  
  
  



End file.
